"I Had A Perfect European Holiday…With My Kids In Tow"

Is it hell travelling 24 hours in economy with kids? I say fitful dozing while your kids’ heads and legs are tangled over you, kicking you in the deep dark of an overnight flight is not fun. But it’s far better than being tapped awake by a stranger whose shoulder you’ve just drooled on, which happened to me, in the days before I had kids to drool on instead.

Extra Baggage

I’ve recently returned from another trip to France without my husband, but with my three kids, aged 12, 10 and 8. I keep doing it - and loving it - despite certain obvious drawbacks. There’s no days spent gazing around the great galleries of art, no strolls along the Seine at midnight in Paris, no smoky wine bars with jazz singers crooning French love songs. But then again, I’m usually too tired to do all that, jetlagged and I can’t cope with more than an hour walking around a gallery anyway.

The wonderful thing about France, and all of Europe, is that its pleasures are built into the fabric of life. Food, culture, language, history, architecture, design are all unavoidable so long as you choose the right places to go. Therefore a simple trip to a playground in Paris becomes a delight for grown-ups, too. It involves watching your child on a classic merry-go-round or hiring a stick to push a little boat around a pond - all in the surrounds of a 400-year-old formally laid out French garden - the Jardin de Luxembourg.

Because you can’t afford to always be eating out with kids, a ‘packed lunch’ doesn’t involve Vegemite sarnies or crackers and dip. Instead it’s popping in to a boulangerie to pick-up a crusty baguette, then a wander through a street market, picking up the freshest, reddest tomato you’ve ever seen, artisan salami and choosing the stinkiest, ripest cheese (I buy a non-stinky one for my youngest). The markets also usually have a guy selling knives - charming French made pocket knives, perfect for preparing your picnic.

Bribery as blessing

Of course your kids will still find something to complain about. That’s where bribery comes in. If they don’t shut it, there’ll be no gelato, no crêpe, no pain au chocolat, no éclair au chocolat or any number of delicious continental treats. At home, in Australia, I’m a no-sugar Nazi, but when in Rome… or France, or Spain…dragging the kids around Barcelona’s Gaudi buildings - which they really did not like - the bribe was churros con chocolat.

That bribe became an experience, as my supposed research into the city’s best churros led us after forty minutes of walking, to a takeaway joint. Then, all the way down to the old town to a great Barcelonian churros institution… which was closed with a steel rolladoor.

By now the kids were so over it - there were churros cafes everywhere - why couldn’t we just go over there? Or there? So we went to the dull looking cafe next door. The kids complained about my tour guiding skills, and who was I to tell them to shut it this time?

But when we walked out, the steel rolladoor was open! So what if we were already full from our two helpings of churros that day? We joyfully charged in, and surrounded by fabulous frescoed walls and maroon cushioned seats we ordered from white-shirted waiters. Our sugary fried doughnuts were still hot and the deep, dark, thick chocolate was loaded up with whipped cream. All was forgiven.

When you travel with kids, no matter how organised you think you are, you can’t expect every moment to be perfect. And sometimes it’s your own stuff-ups that are remembered… as part of a treasured family legend.